


Echo of a Righteous Son

by Rowan_Valraven



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: BAMF Hanzo kinda, Dark Hanzo kinda, Hanzo Reaper friendship, Hanzo joins Talon, Kinda AU, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Talon Hanzo Shimada, more tags will be added, no brainwashing required
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-05-29 15:57:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15076619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rowan_Valraven/pseuds/Rowan_Valraven
Summary: After killing Genji, Hanzo doesn't simply leave his clan. Instead, he stages his death and leaves that whole life behind him, taking an alias. He still does what he does best, assassinate and infiltrate but his untethered position has become something he enjoys greatly.That is, until he joins Talon and things become a lot more complicated with the Overwatch Recall.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was what I initially wrote when I had this idea, it’s more or less a prologue to introduce the story I had in mind. The following chapters will be focused on everything that happened beforehand and then we’ll continue where this left off.
> 
> I’d like to call myself a friendly person, so I’d love to hear any comments you, my readers, might have. Also, nobody writes perfectly and have no beta so feel free to point out any mistakes in my writing.

A sliver of sunlight was the only source of light in the room, it came from a door left ajar. Maybe it was broken, maybe its owner couldn’t summon the strength to close it completely, maybe we’ll never know. Inside the room, the silence reigned, if one could concentrate enough, the breathing of a man could be heard along with the nearly silent hiss of a sword cutting the air with delicate precision. It was a muscular man with long black hair wrapped in a bun, his skin was moderately tanned but not because of the exposure to the sun, it was his natural skin color, one very common between the Japanese people. His features were angular, sharp, making him look ethereal and noble. His silence was complete and solemn, maybe a clear representation of his personality. His skin was marred by almost unseen scars, they weren’t noticeable at first sight but if one were to look they’d find light impressions of healed wounds given a fast treatment. His right arm was marked by an intricate tattoo representing two dragons in the traditional Japanese art style along with the symbol of his family.

The man seemed perfectly focused on his movements, following the katas that he had been taught during his childhood, movements quick and perfect after so many years of experience. A blue kendogi followed his movements as it slid through the air on its owner’s waist. In a corner of the room an armour laid, prepared for use. It was modern; made of metal and with clearly protective aim. It wasn’t bulky nor was it heavy, merely appearing to be so, but was light and allowed its wearer mobility. The armour was loosely inspired on a samurai armour, giving the protection but leaving some areas clear of decoration for the sake of being discreet. It was paired with a simple mask and the tonalities of the whole ensemble were blues, blacks and some hints of yellow. The whole armour seemed expensive and made especially with one person in mind, its owner, who was the quiet man practicing his katas. The other types of equipment were spread across the room, there were some lonely bombs, single arrow shafts and, in a carefully wrapped suitcase, a bow named stormbow also made for the room’s only occupant.

As hours passed the single source of light started dimming until the room was left in darkness, it was only then when the man stopped his training and started gathering his things, readying to leave. He sheathed his sword, adjusted his kendogi and carefully covered his tattoo with a black arm sleeve that ended at his hand tied to his middle finger with a string, perfectly covering all the tattoo. Then he donned the armour carefully, securing each part as he had done so many times before. When he was finished all his belongings were inside a bag slung over his shoulder and his armour covered him completely, hiding any clue of his identity.

He opened the door and looked back to the room where he had spent the last week, he was leaving it behind just as all those other rooms in all those other cities. He had to keep moving, he had been doing it for years now and he wasn’t planning to stop now. He wasn’t going to let them find him. But this time it was different, he wasn’t going to search for another room like this one. No. This time he had received an offer, one he was planning on accepting and that would change the course of his life.

He walked until he left the building behind, no sight left of that abandoned room he had lived in for a short amount of time. Just as he turned to enter a dark alley a shadow moved, revealing a hooded figure with a white mask similar to a skull. “I see you have decided to take my offer.” A ragged voice said from the darkness inside the hood.

“Indeed, I have, Reaper.” He answered shortly.

“Welcome to Talon, Yoshirou.”

Hidden to any onlooker behind the blue mask a smirk formed in Hanzo’s lips, of course they didn’t know his identity. After all, Hanzo Shimada was killed by a rogue member of the Shimada clan years ago, just before it was dismantled by Overwatch who was unknowingly aided by an anonymous assassin with a personal vendetta, said to be the killer of the last Master of the Hanamura Castle. With the clan prosecuted and the Shimada Lord dead, the rogue was said to be seen leaving the castle with his iconic blue armour never to be seen again until now that Hibiki Yoshirou has joined Talon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hibiki is a Japanese name written 響 meaning "sound or echo". Yoshirou is another Japanese name that I'll be using as a surname, it's written 義郎, with 義 (yoshi) meaning "righteous" and 郎 (rou) meaning "son". It signifies how Hanzo is the echo of the righteous son he was in his youth, which creates a very original and convenient title for this story :D
> 
> Next update isn't scheduled yet, but it may happen within the week. There might be some problems because of my vacation plans but I do plan on continuing this story.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here is the promised update. This fills the gap between Genji's death to the end of the Shimada Kumi as a criminal empire. Also, some free Genji foreshadowing because I'm having fun with it.
> 
> The next chapter will cover the years Hanzo worked as a mercenary until he was offered to join Talon and the start of his relationship with the Talon team he was assigned.
> 
> Remember guys, gals, and pals, all comments feed the muse :3

After killing his brother, Hanzo went mad. He had no one left, the elders expected the best of him and the whole clan looked at him for directions, for a leader. They depended on him, but he had no one to love, not anymore. He had killed the last one person he had been allowed to love and trust, his own brother. He felt like a monster. Maybe he just was a monster.

Maybe in another world, he would have denied his nature, he would have left his clan, his duty, and rejected his sword training and focused on his secondary weapon, his bow. Maybe he would have been happier in this other world, travelled, educated himself in arts that had nothing to do with training and were pure leisure and, maybe, he would have found a family along the years. But this was not that world.

In this world, the clan elders’ words were more twisted, the nature of their souls and their intentions were perfectly clear to an equally twisted Hanzo. He had been trained to kill since he could walk, he had been educated and shaped into the perfect Lord of the Shimada Clan. He had duties and he had been _made_ to follow that path. And he had thought killing his only brother had been the right thing to do. While Hanzo had trained for his whole life, Genji had been spoiled and had grown to be a care-free playboy who brought dishonour to the whole family. His little brother would have never understood his position, his choice and, furthermore, he never even _knew_ just how different their educations had been and thus, how different they truly were.

Hanzo knew how to lead the clan; he knew all the pertaining people to do business with, how to make deals and twist them to benefit him, he had informants everywhere, he could lead all the operations that were necessary and, most importantly for the tradition of the family, he could defend himself. The dragons of the Shimada Clan answered his call, as it was expected of him as the Heir. He was built to lead the Shimada Empire, it was his duty and his burden.

It was also all he knew.

He never had the spare time his brother enjoyed. He wasn’t allowed to indulge in drugs or alcohol whenever he wanted, he couldn’t go to parties that weren’t pertinent to his duties. All he lived, he lived it inside the boundaries his duties required. He never experienced the life his brother led, just as his brother remained ignorant to all the tasks he had to attend to. He loved his brother, but he had never known just how much he loved him until he had lost him and there was no going back.

Genji’s blood stained his hands, his sword, his clothes. All Hanzo could do was hold his brother as he bled to death, tears blurred his sight and sobs racked his body, but he couldn’t do anything. He didn’t have enough medical training to save him and he also couldn’t take him anywhere as the influence of the Elders all over Hanamura meant he would be denied medical care. He remembered telling Genji how he knew his little brother would have never fit into the family business. His heart was too pure, his intentions too good. He was a great fighter, but his true strength would have never shown fighting for the Shimada Clan and its twisted nature. He didn’t know exactly what words he used, but he knew that Genji would have never heard any of those words coming out of his lips in other circumstance.

“Genji, my little sparrow trapped in a den of black vultures.” He muttered as he kissed his brother’s forehead. “In your next life you will fight for what you believe is right, you will be a hero and you will fight monsters like me. I am beyond redemption.”

And with those words Hanzo left, he knew that Genji wouldn’t want to be buried with the rest of the Shimada, not when he had run away from the clan. He didn’t want to have anything to do with them, with their nature that was so inherently different to his.

He didn’t immediately head to the castle, he needed to lay low and mourn, if only for a small period of hours. He might be a monster, but he still had feelings, no matter how wicked they were.

When Hanzo came back to the Hanamura Castle he was crueller than ever. He was respected by all and feared by many. Genji’s name became a taboo and no one was allowed into his room. No one questioned Hanzo, too afraid to anger their ruthless leader.

As time passed, Hanzo grew as a leader and as a person. He realized that he had been bound to the Shimada Clan since birth and that the bindings wouldn’t let him loose unless he died. He could see how his bindings would never let him live his life, he’d always be the Master of the Hanamura Castle.

He knew they’d never let him go. So, he staged his death.

It could be considered cowardly by many, but Hanzo was beyond caring what their hypocritical thoughts were. None of them had been indoctrinated as he had been and none of them had to hold the weight of the Shimada’s crumbling empire on their shoulders, bound to it with unbreakable chains made by honour and tradition.

One of his cousins, Utsumi, the heir to one of the Clan Elders, had always been very invested in gaining power, maybe a little too much. Everyone in the clan knew it but nobody dared to do anything about it as it was against the rules to defy one of a higher position. Since their childhood, Hanzo could see how the man became more power obsessed as he grew, he monitored his movements and bid his time in case it became a useful factor. Now, it was time.

The first thing he did was order a new armour in his new victim’s name, everyone had to know that it was his, but it also had to hide his identity so that Hanzo could use it without anyone noticing it wasn’t Utsumi who wore it. Hanzo made sure that everyone started to get suspicious about Utsumi’s true intentions, making it look like there was a lot of tension between the two of them, hinting a possible attack orchestrated by Utsumi in a bid to get more power. The armour had arrived at the Castle, the servants now knew that Utsumi had a new armour and its appearance, which meant that soon everyone would also know. The gossip mill was a very important part for Hanzo’s plan.

One night, the day of Genji’s birthday, Hanzo went to the pedestal he had created for his brother. His body wasn’t retrieved so all it had was his old sword, the one that had killed his brother. Hanzo had sworn never to use it again and it had become a symbol for him. It showed how the clan had him bound in such way that he was able to commit such an atrocity. It was something he’d never forget. His duty and his burden, as he had said so many years ago.

Hanzo had ordered to be left alone, not wanting anyone to see him mourning but also leaving the perfect opportunity for anyone to attack him without attracting the guards' attention. He had summoned Utsumi in secret, telling him he wanted to talk in private and nobody had to know. All the clan thought he wanted to mourn his brother on the night of his birthday, some thought it was a weakness and others a strength; to mourn someone he had killed out of loyalty to the clan.

His musings were brought to an end by the arrival of the man he had been waiting for, Utsumi. He was tense, obviously not knowing what to expect out of this confrontation. Hanzo hadn’t planned everything to a T, but he knew how he wanted this to end and he was ready to do whatever necessary to achieve his goal. He sighed and put down the incense he had just lit, he turned to look at the other man. He was muscular, trained in martial arts and capable with a gun; yet he hadn’t received the intense training Hanzo had and thus, he wasn’t quite a threat to him. However, Hanzo had to make everything look as an assassination by a passionate wanna-be leader and this made everything more difficult on his part.

“Come here Utsumi.” He muttered lowly giving the sensation of a tired mourning leader, which wasn't hard as it wasn't far from the truth. He waited until the other sat at his side to continue talking, now subtly focusing all his attention on Utsumi’s movements. “I’ve heard many things being said about your actions and intentions towards my position and I have to say I don’t like what I've heard.” Obviously, no one knew that he had been the one to create those rumours, but a leader must always be alert to those things, so it wasn’t weird for him to question anyone he was suspicious of, especially with the critical situation the Clan was in.

Hanzo paid no mind to the spluttering of Utsumi, who was desperately trying to save himself from the tense situation. Treachery wasn’t taken lightly in the Shimada Clan, much less by one of its most ruthless leaders. It was only when Utsumi looked down, overwhelmed by the fear of being punished for his supposed treachery when Hanzo struck.

He hit his nape with the side of his hand, disorientating Utsumi enough that he could draw his sword and slash his back. The sword was the one Utsumi had supposedly ordered with this armour, it was a black katana with discrete golden embellishments. Utsumi shouted at the sudden attack and turned his back to Genji’s pedestal, looking at Hanzo with wide eyes. The Shimada leader took advantage again and struck his victim’s torso, inflicting a mortal wound, probably severing several important organs. With a last gasp, Utsumi fell sideways and stopped moving, his insides coating the tatami as he bled out.

Hanzo carefully cleaned his sword and sheathed it, undressing and changing Utsumi’s clothes with his, making sure they were properly cut on the same places as the injuries. He then took the armour he had hidden in the room along with other necessary items and started getting dressed. He cut his hand lightly and spread some blood across the scene, leaving a trail on his former sword’s grip, giving the impression he had tried to fight hin attacker. When he had finished manipulating the scene he took some steps back and stared at the final product.

Utsumi laid next to the pedestal, on it, the sword’s grip was bloodied and slightly drawn. Blood had started to spread from the corpse, staining the white robe Hanzo had been wearing as a sign of mourning and Utsumi was dead or on his way to being so. There was only a detail missing. The corpse had to be unrecognizable, everyone had to assume that it was Hanzo the one who had died, killed by a traitor. Hanzo took Utsumi’s gun, taken from his own body and directed it to the dying man’s face, shooting a couple of times. Utsumi’s gun was a special design, made to be more explosive and making as much damage as possible to its objective, which now served to make his face unrecognizable. As a last preventive measure, Hanzo threw the man’s lighter and a small match to burn enough evidence that showed he wasn’t really Hanzo.

The now traitor to the Shimada knew that the clan wouldn’t investigate the scene like the police would. There wouldn’t be any DNA check, fingerprint search or even an autopsy. They wouldn’t want to show how their leader had been killed by a fellow Shimada to the police or even to anyone outside the clan. All they would want to know was who was the murderer and where to find them. But Hanzo had also planned for that. He fled the castle with an already arranged route, a flight was booked under a false identity and a decent disguise had been prepared beforehand. He had made all the necessary arrangements to make it look like Utsumi had disappeared into the night after murdering the Head of the Shimada clan.

In the end, everything had gone just as he had designed. There had been a solemn and closed casket funeral for Hanzo Shimada. Many had spoken about his ability as a leader, others mentioned the strength he had brought the clan in such a short period of time, but no one mentioned his sacrifices or his kindness to others. They wanted to remember him as a strong and ruthless leader, an archetype, a machine without feelings perfect for the role as master of the Hanamura castle, not the man who had been trained and indoctrinated, who had killed his brother and helped those in the family that couldn’t support themselves. Hanzo had never realized just how fickle they were until that point, but somehow he wasn’t surprised.

He had been traveling the world, driving across the Sahara Desert, just starting to explore places he had never even thought of visiting when he had received the warning that the Shimada were being attacked. Hanzo researched the attacks and the movements of the organization, coming to the realization that it was a not so secret Overwatch division known as Blackwatch, probably made for the more brutal and secretive missions. It was clear that the attackers had information from the inside, nobody knew the weaknesses of the Shimada like one of their own. Honestly, Hanzo couldn’t care less about what happened to the Shimada Clan, but he could see how only the vilest of the organization were surviving, having an easy access to most of the clan's resources. Hanzo had left because he could see it was rotten to the core, corrupt in the exact same way they preached against. The ones at fault where the ones who were getting away and Hanzo couldn’t let that happen.

He travelled back to Japan, using a different identity, and started striking the operations that weren’t noticed by Blackwatch, sometimes he even left some information for them to find. In a way, he was helping to bring down his own family, but he couldn’t muster any regret. They had made him into a monster, it was only fair that they learned exactly what that meant. Hanzo made sure Blackwatch didn’t see much of him, nor him of them, they probably knew that someone else was attacking the Shimada, but they didn’t know who or why. He wanted to keep his anonymity and Blackwatch didn’t mind the help. It was a win-win situation everyone. He had made sure to never get in contact with them, only knowing the number of teams they had, as any more research on their members could make them decide he was a threat, which he obviously didn't want. At that point any attention to his figure was unwanted attention.

After he made sure all the people from the clan who wronged him were dead or incarcerated, he left Japan, again. He wasn’t planning on coming back, not in a few years. He had never figured out who had betrayed the Shimada Kumi to Overwatch, but he didn’t care too much either. It was just another traitor like him, he was sure it wasn’t one of the people who wronged him because he had taken those matters in his own hands or he had made sure they had been appropriately treated.

Little did he know that leaving that question unanswered would create a lot of trouble years later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I've used the term kumi to refer to the Shimada Clan, in other fics you'll probably read it as gumi instead of kumi, but I think that the correct term of the Shimada is kumi because its origins are as an assassin family in the Edo era and not as a yakuza family, even though it probably works more like a yakuza one at this point in cannon.
> 
> This is the explication I found on internet;  
> 組 is read "kumi" by itself and doesn't have negative meaning or any association with Yakuza, i.e. school class, group, etc.  
> But when its bastardised form "gumi" is used for organizations, i.e. Yamaguchi-gumi, it is usually associated with Yakuza group.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter we finish the recap from Hanzo’s lost years and the next chapter will be Hanzo’s introduction to Talon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I wanted to update sooner, but I had other things going on. This chapter is kinda short, sorry.
> 
> Last but not least, I wanted to thank my now official beta ScienceBoy for supporting me and helping me with this <3

Years passed and Hanzo changed. He wasn’t the bitter young man that had staged his death and left his clan. Instead, he had matured enough to see that, perhaps, he had been too rash. He didn’t regret anything, not at all, but maybe he should have been more attentive and less dramatic. He might have been discreet, but in the end, he wasn’t quiet enough. It had taken many months and effort to renew all the contacts he once had as Heir of the Shimada Kumi and he still hadn’t managed to get all of them, he had lost a lot when he denied his heritage as heir. Many had been easily swayed by his title as Conqueror to Hanzo Shimada or by the expected payment for their services, but he still lacked some support in certain areas like the weapons trade and drug deals. Thankfully, he didn’t need those too often, but it did leave him with some difficulties at the moment of replenishing his reservoirs. He wasn’t planning on building an empire like the Shimada once had, but he wanted to be prepared for anything and that meant having contacts everywhere. The ones he had at the moment were enough, but they didn’t compare to the power the Shimada had amassed during all their years in the business.

He had taken various jobs as an assassin and mercenary, winning a lot of money for his travels and other activities he now enjoyed but hadn’t been able to partake in his youth. Hanzo had discovered the enjoyment in drinking, smoking, playing cards and spending the night at someone else’s bed. Things he had never been allowed to do back at Hanamura as all his movements had been shadowed by members of the Clan, only seeking faults in their heir. He started reading, poetry, novels, drama even some philosophical texts; anything he could get his hands on. He learned other languages, mastering his English, reviewing his Chinese and Korean and learning Spanish, French and a bit of German. He enjoyed the freedom he had now. If anything, the only thing that annoyed him was the fact that he had to be so careful with his identity, no one could know the face of the mercenary known as Yoshirou and also, nobody could know that Hanzo wasn’t truly dead, but this only became easier as time passed and his body matured.

In the end, the Shimada Clan became a memory and its last leader a legend. People said that he was killed by the now feared assassin Hibiki Yoshirou who also hunted down the surviving members of the clan after its downfall. There were many rumours about Yoshirou’s true identity, the majority agreed that it was a rogue Shimada with a big grudge but the fact that it was Utsumi had become a clan secret, kept by the ones who survived the attacks, like the service or the small former members. Hanzo thought it was a curious detail, how they wanted to preserve the clan’s honour even though the Shimada Kumi didn’t exist anymore, but he didn’t complain as it worked in his favour in the end. If one were to research intensively on Yoshirou’s identity they’d probably come to the conclusion that it was Utsumi, but they’d need to bribe some former Shimada and, even then, they wouldn’t get the truth. Some part of Hanzo was proud that he had managed to hide his identity so well.

But Hanzo had not only changed by maturing as time passed. After an accident, he had lost his legs and now he wore prosthetics, the best money could buy in the black market, even immune to EMPs. It had been caused by a rogue Shimada who intended to kill the latest heir’s killer with a suicide bomb. In the end, he had died and Hanzo ended up gravely injured, needing to have what was left of his legs amputated. He had been left out of commission for months while the wounds were recovered enough to receive the treatment necessary to install the rare prosthetics. He had been left defenceless, depending on a very illegal and private hospital which demanded a good amount for their service. When he did get the prosthetics he needed a few weeks to get used to them and to learn everything he could about them.

It had been a hard time for Hanzo, but he had grown for it and now it was all better. He had even learned how to take care of them himself, learning the prints by heart which allowed him to fix most of the damage and the problems this had brought to their performance since he got them, but most importantly, it had done wonders to show himself he was still independent after losing his legs. Their most interesting quality was that they weren’t removable, to take them away one had to dismantle them and this gave Hanzo a great feeling of security as he feared to wake up without his legs again.

He had also cut his hair in a more modern undercut, leaving the upper part long and usually wrapped in a bun. His piercings had been unexpected but strangely fitting; his ears, his tongue and the bridge of his nose. Not something one would expect of Hanzo Shimada, but also something that Hanzo himself had felt was perfect for him. As he grew up, piercings had been a forbidden thing, no matter how much he liked them. He had been given a serious talking to when he had dared to mention it to his mother, who said it was beneath his position. But that didn’t matter anymore, he was free to do as he wished. It might have been a very late attempt of rebellion to make up the lack of them in his teen years, but Hanzo was over worrying about those things after all he had done to his clan.

He had stopped wearing traditional Japanese clothing for the sake of being more discreet. He missed them, but he now understood that it was better for his anonymity. He got to wear it when he was on full Yoshirou regalia, that was all he could get, for now at least.

He did realize that he didn’t want to live hiding for the rest of his life, but he couldn’t find anything else at the moment. He decided to continue as he had before, choosing not to do anything about the matter until he was sure about his approach, he wasn't in the position to make careless choices. It was then when he received an interesting invitation to an infamous organization, Talon. The man who recruited him, Reaper, was the commander of the unit. Their aim was profit, no matter the origin. They worked with many other criminal organizations and were considered the most efficient in the matter of attack in a more professional way, from large scale to infiltration to silent assassinations. So of course, it made sense that they’d want to recruit an assassin that had been getting an important reputation in the most recent years.

Hanzo saw it as an opportunity to get more contacts and also, a way to be safer, as being in a group would mean having his back covered in some way, even though it would probably mean dealing with some interesting characters that would form part of his unit. Hanzo didn’t expect to make friends with the other criminals, but he knew that once he was part of Talon he wouldn’t have to worry about taking flights with a false identity or about smuggling his weapons into the country he was traveling to. It didn’t seem like a lot, but Hanzo knew that he could also start hoarding favours from the allies he might make.

He had given the matter a lot of thought. At first, he feared for his hidden identity, wondering if they knew who he really was. It put him in danger, but Hanzo thought it was worth the risk. But after that first meeting with Reaper, Hanzo had suspected that they really didn’t know who he was, maybe they were aware of the rumours about Utsumi but didn’t even suspect about his real identity. Now all he had to worry about was maintaining his anonymity during his stay at the Talon bases. But, seeing how Reaper also seemed to desire to keep his own identity secret, Hanzo thought it wouldn’t be so complicated.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now we leave the past and start with what happened after the prologue.
> 
> I decided to explore the relationship between Reaper and Hanzo, I plan on making them friends(?) Next chapter is going to have some McHanzo interaction, finally xD

From that alley, the Reaper led Yoshirou to an orca model of transportation. He couldn’t recognize the exact model, but he knew that it had been used by Overwatch before it’s disbandment and other military forces. The pilot was a nameless goon with what appeared to be the standard Talon uniform. The flight was long, but neither Reaper nor he said a single word, anything that had to be communicated was through simple gestures.

When they landed, Yoshirou realized that Reaper had taken him to one of Talon’s bases in Eastern Europe, the one nearest their initial location apparently. It was a nondescript yet big building. Its appearance was purposefully uncared for, giving the idea that it wasn’t used, just another abandoned construction.

“These are all the main agents who aren’t in a mission at the moment.” Reaper stated. “Widowmaker, Sombra, this is Hibiki Yoshirou. The newest addition to our team.” He didn’t seem to be one of many words, but Hanzo himself wasn’t a big speaker either so he didn’t fault him.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Yoshirou, specialized on assassination and attacks. You may have heard about me in the grapevine.” He said politely giving a short bow.

“Claro que escuché de ti. You’re quite famous in the mercenary circles, do you have any hint you want to give me about your true identity? There are so many theories in the deep web, it’s making me crazy.” Sombra joked, being a very successful hacker, she knew about the initial order for the armour at Utsumi’s name, but obviously, she wasn’t going to show just how much information she had.

“No comment.” He joked back, but really, nobody expected him to answer that. “I’ll leave it to you to solve that puzzle, no cheating.” Then he looked at Widowmaker, who had remained silent through the whole exchange. “May I ask what your specialty is, Widowmaker?”

“I’m a sniper and assassin.” She answered with a tad cold tone. She did seem distant and serious.

“Interesting, I’m an archer myself. Maybe we could see who has the best aim?” He was always eager to test his abilities with his secondary weapon even if it was against a sniper rifle, it’d probably be entertaining.

“Yes, that would be fun.” She smirked, giving him a once over. “Would you two be interested in taking part?”

Sombra looked up from her tablet and looked at them. “I’d love to watch, it’ll be fun to see who loses. Maybe I can win some money with the bets.”

“I’m busy at the moment, excuse me I have to get to a debrief. Maybe I’ll slip in at some point, see how good you really are.” Reaper said roughly as he left the room, disappearing into one of the corridors.

The three of them continued talking about many topics, it was educating to Hanzo. Turns out, there was another member assigned to their task force named Moira who refused to leave her experiments unless she was sorely needed for a mission. He also heard about their alleged leader, Doomfist, who was in prison at the moment. As they talked, Hanzo could denote a Spanish lilt on Sombra’s voice and a French accent on Widowmaker’s. It seemed that he wasn’t the only one whose native language wasn’t English.

They gave him a simple tour around the base and stopped at the shooting range to honour that challenge issued earlier. The rest of the afternoon was filled with jokes and bonding. It wasn’t until dinner that Hanzo realized that Reaper hadn’t visited them at the shooting range as he had said he would. He probably was too busy or had merely said that last sentence so as to not come off as dismissive of their abilities.

Obviously, Hanzo’s mask was an issue. Eating with the rest was a challenge, casually drinking things was just as hard. But something he was grateful for, was that no one bothered him too much about it. Sombra was spending many hours researching, wanting to sate her curiosity about Yoshirou. Widowmaker had tried to seduce him at first, her actions becoming forced in Hanzo's eyes who had seen her previous coldness, but in the end, she had left it alone. Reaper hadn’t even tried, respecting his choice just as Hanzo respected his.

In the end, he had a few encounters with the health support of the team, Moira O'Deorain. It was clear she could be a professional but her sharp comments and constant malign sarcasm showed just how approachable she was. Hanzo had no interest in pursuing any kind of relationship there apart from the strictly professional and maybe even less. He just had to make sure it didn't bother the team's assignments so as to not to be forced to approach the medic outside what was strictly required.

Aside from some lunches, Hanzo didn’t see Reaper a lot. Maybe coincidentally in the halls or in the training room from time to time, but never too often or too much time. It seemed he was a busy man and he didn’t expect that to change, not while the other was the squad’s leader.

It was another night in the base, nothing special about the day that set it apart from the others, but for some reason, Hanzo woke up from a terrible nightmare about his brother and his clan. They weren’t uncommon but this one was especially hard on Hanzo. He was restless, he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. The rogue Shimada got up with a sigh and put on a simple hakama with the interesting addition of a hood and took his mask. He took care to hide his hair, face and other special markers that could set him apart from any other, like his tattoo or any specific scar. This was easily achieved by wearing his arm sleeve and modest clothing, with the constant presence of a hood and his mask.

Hanzo left his room and took the corridors until he reached the kitchen, taking a bottle of sake and wishing to enjoy a smoke in the rooftop. But when he got to his destination he found it was already occupied. Reaper was sitting calmly with his back to the door and a whiskey bottle next to him. None of them were fazed by the change of temperature outside the building, the cold biting their skin. It seemed that they were both too used to their professions and the disconforts that were sometimes necessary to carry them out to care about something so small as temperature drops when they wanted to take their minds off their problems.

The Japanese man froze, not wanting to intrude in the other man’s private time. “I apologize, it seems we had the same idea. I’ll find some other place so as not to disturb you.”

Just as he turned, ready to leave the rooftop, a smooth voice stopped him. “Don’t worry, compadre. We can share rooftop, I’m sure both of us will be respectful enough with the other.” Reaper’s voice did have some remaining growl to it, but with the mask displaced it sounded calm, as it left the lower part of his face uncovered which meant that the device that scrambles the pitch of his voice wasn't in range. Hanzo though about the other’s words. It was obvious that Reaper was referring to their masked states in the public and how both should know enough so as not to pry into the other’s identity, there was a mild threat in there but it was to be expected of anyone of their profession.

“You take the west side and I the east side?” He asked, sometimes putting simple norms was better for the parts involved. Both could get to the door without being in an angle that allowed them to look at the other’s face and, if they didn’t face each other they would be no trouble.

Reaper’s only answer was to turn to look at the west, leaving his back facing Hanzo’s side. The swordsman hummed and sat behind his commander, their backs touching, supporting each other. Time passed slowly, each thinking about what kept them awake and enjoying their preferred beverages. They didn’t bother each other, simply sharing space and silence to the other’s thoughts.

It was only when Hanzo was halfway his sake bottle when he took out his pack of cigarettes, lighting one, taking a single drag and offering it to Reaper. “You want one?”

“Sure.” Reaper took the cig and started with it, humming. “Didn’t realize how much I missed these things. Silence, alcohol and a smoke.”

“It’s the best thing you can have at these hours if sleep evades you.” Some stars were visible, probably because of the lack of light pollution which now allowed them to stare at the stars that dotted the dark canvas that was the night sky, the moon was waning, Hanzo knew that in a week it’d be new moon, one of the best times to use the darkness of the night as a cover for an operation. “Do you need to sleep in your state? I’d enjoy not having to sleep, maybe my life wouldn’t haunt me at night.” It wasn't a secret that everyone suspected Reaper to not be wholly human, there was a silent agreement between most of the talon soldiers that he could not be one with the abilities he showed on missions. Hanzo thought it was better to not pry in things that didn't affect him directly, to do so would only incur the wrath of Reaper, who obviously appreciated his privacy.

“I need less sleep than the rest, but the night is still plagued with nightmares whether I sleep or not. It seems unavoidable.” The smoke of their cigarettes polluted the air around them, wisps danced from the cigs and drew transitory drawings of fumes. Maybe his current companion didn't notice it, but Reaper was amused by the delicate reference to his... ' _state_ ' and the tact that Yoshirou showed.

“The dead haunt me whether I’m asleep or not, maybe they simply choose the moment at which I’m weakest.” Hanzo took a drag and dispelled it slowly, enjoying the feeling of the smoke in his mouth. “It is not the nightmares what causes our ailments, but our minds.”

He could hear how Reaper shifted at his response, his back was a bit more tense, maybe paying more attention to the conversation. “You are a famous assassin, how is it possible that the dead haunt you if you are the death of others?” His tone was low as if he had asked himself that same question many times before.

Both were killers, neither of them knew exactly the other’s life nor their personal experience, but it was easy to see that the dead haunted them no matter how close they were to death every day. Hanzo sighed and raised his hand to his misplaced mask, removing it all together and placing it next to him and in his sight range and Reaper’s. He rubs his face and takes another drag from his cigarette.

“I started killing when I was young, my family encouraged it and I never had a problem with it. It is simply what I was taught, killing was not necessarily wrong, it was a tool and an effective and permanent method to silence others. But as I grew up I realized that some people did not deserve an arrow or a sword in their vital organs. Some people out there are innocent and deserve a peaceful, natural death. I killed some people who did not deserve it, people I knew and had talked to before. At the moment I thought it was for the best, but as time passed I could only see how blind I was. How I stole precious people from their loved ones, how I might have killed someone that could have stopped me from becoming what I am now. A monster.” Genji could have saved him if they had been closer, if Hanzo hadn’t been so focused on pleasing the father that paid him little attention, if he hadn’t been so bitter because of their different lifestyles even when they were brothers. Hanzo had grown up to become an assassin but Genji was the only person pure enough that could have stopped him. “Now I do not feel remorse, I have done it too many times to suddenly grow a caring heart, but that doesn't stop a hidden part of myself from torturing me in my sleep.”

Hanzo got the feeling that Reaper was shocked, maybe it was his confession or the fact that he had removed his mask, but just when he had started hesitating, thinking about replacing it. A darkened hand brushed the grey mask as it left a white one next to it. “Monstruo, huh? I know a lot about those. I’ve learned that one is always necessary to fight another.” If Reaper’s voice was only clearer without the mask, it kept a bit of its initial growl, but now sounded hoarser as if his throat were damaged. “Years ago, I meet a man of ideals, always the first one in and the last one out. Ready to fight for what he thought was right until his last breath. He said he wanted to fight monsters but as the war went on he started seeing the monsters fighting alongside him, his comrades weren’t the green squeaky-clean soldiers they were before. Each battle hardened them, and some lost themselves to the hate and the adrenaline. Some were willing to get dirty with their tactics, being more black ops focused than the rest of their fellows. This man though, he maintained his ideals as if they were part of the war. He wasn’t an idiot, he matured just as the rest of us did, but he was still willing to fight as clean as he could. A real gentleman.” The bottle of whiskey made a noise as it was placed again in the floor, now halfway empty. “We knew each other very well, having fought together for so long. But he never understood how not giving the enemies a chance to surrender led to less wounded in our team, or how attacking some bases without the official permission would give us an advantage in the next battle.” Reaper shifted again, the topic was hard on him, but he wanted to be understood and he could see that Yoshirou, whoever he was, could understand him unlike many of his former compadres could. “In the end, he became a poster boy and I was left in the shadows, each one used their methods until it was clear we were very different people. He was an armoured poster boy and I a monster who fought other monsters with monstrous methods. Too different to even exist in the same world anymore.” There was a certain rawness to his voice that Hanzo had never thought he’d hear coming from him, it was obvious that Reaper had loved this man in some way, no matter how different they were. Just like Hanzo and his brother, who loved each other but were so dissimilar.

“Bakemono, monster. It’s something I’ve been called a lot. Kinslayer, traitor, demon… It goes on and on. All those things are true. I am a monster, I have killed members of my own family. But the world has always had monsters and many of them were good men before gazing into the abyss. It was my intention to protect, my family, my honour and myself, what made me into what I am now.” Hanzo looks at his bottle of sake, it was almost empty. “It is not something I can change. I have to live with it and face it with every breath I take and every second I continue living.”

He takes the last sip left in the gourd and leaves it next to his mask, empty, just like him. They were sitting back to back, still not moving from their initial position. Being trained, it was easy for them to maintain the equilibrium, leaning on each other just enough so that they didn’t fall. Hanzo calms his tense neck and leans back into Reaper’s own head, who tenses at the sudden contact. After a moment, Reaper sighs too and leans back against him. “Where would we have gone without those two beacons of light we had before our definitive darkness?” Hanzo ask to the stars, absently hearing Reaper’s understanding hum. It seemed that both of them were on the same page.

He had never dared to hope to find this level of understanding with anyone, but he had found it in the least expected place, or maybe, after doing some thinking, it wasn't so unexpected. This was Talon after all, a pit of monsters who employed their kind to take on their unholy tasks.


End file.
